John Lewis

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COMMENTARY
By Leslie C. Francis

Friday night, after reporting on yet another bizarre story coming out of the White House (this one about President Trump not wanting to become “distracted” by the coronavirus pandemic), followed by news of masked federal law enforcement officers arresting and detaining citizens in Portland, Ore., MSNBC anchor Brian Williams had to abandon his script in order to announce the death of civil rights icon John Lewis.

Rep. Lewis’ passing was not unexpected, as he had been battling pancreatic cancer since late last year. Even so, a viewer could quickly tell from Williams’ voice and facial expression that the news hit him hard.

Subsequent reports and commentary across the mainstream media, as well as via social media, confirmed John Lewis’ centrality to American life over the past 60 years, and to his symbolic importance going forward.

My personal experiences with the Atlanta congressman were limited. I met him in 1991, when he was a relatively junior member of the House of Representatives (first elected in 1986), and I was executive director of the Democratic Congressional Campaign Committee. We sat in the same meetings on a number of occasions, but I could never claim to truly “know” him. And he certainly didn’t know me, other than perhaps by name, and as a staffer’s face in the crowd.

However, as one who came of political age in the 1960s, I certainly knew about John Lewis -- his deep convictions, his courage, his dedication to nonviolent protest and his religious faith. In those years, Lewis occupied ideologically precarious -- but crucial -- middle ground in the civil rights movement. He was an ally of leaders older than himself such as Martin Luther King Jr. and A. Philip Randolph (Lewis had been pressured by Randolph to tone down his militant rhetoric at the 1963 Lincoln Memorial protest). At the same time, Lewis was more temperate than “black power” advocates such as Stokely Carmichael and H. Rap Brown in the leadership of his own organization, the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee.

Since learning of his death Friday night, I have found myself, as have countless others, reflecting on John Lewis’ life and career and impact on our country. In doing so, I have been struck by the great contradictions at the heart of his life’s work: He was, from his youth until the time of his passing, a fierce and powerful voice for both change and conciliation, of protest and peace, revolution and reconciliation.

At the time, America needed citizens who could hold such contradictory ideas in their head simultaneously. We need them still.

The morning following the news of Lewis’ passing and the unsettling scenes in Portland, I received a reassuring email from a good friend and political ally up here in the Sierra foothills that linked the two events for me.

In Portland, and in other cities the Trump administration is promising to “dominate,” we are witnessing a civic obscenity, a disregard for the Constitution, and the deliberate inflaming of tensions by agents of the federal government. But some of us fear it may be more than that. We worry that it could be a step toward authoritarianism, a police state.

In other places such as Argentina, Chile, El Salvador, Bosnia and, yes, Russia during Stalin’s reign and now Putin’s, having people “disappear” has been a way to instill terror among the citizenry, a tool, not just of punishment but also of intimidation. It is a weapon against dissent.

“Say Nothing” is a book about the use of “disappearing” during what is known -- euphemistically -- as “the Troubles” in Northern Ireland (from the late 1960s until the mid-1990s). As I read it recently, and as I thought of my own travels and work in that terror-ravaged but otherwise lovely land peopled by folks who are smart, poetic, witty, warm and welcoming, I couldn’t help but wonder how a book about today’s America might read a generation from now.

Those thoughts were not comforting, and what is going on in Portland right now confirms that they were anything but unreasonable. But thanks to my friend’s email, I refocused my thinking and turned again to the example set by John Lewis. Almost exactly a year ago, my friend reminded me, Rep. Lewis tweeted the following:

Do not get lost in a sea of despair. Do not become bitter or hostile. Be hopeful, be optimistic. Never, ever be afraid to make some noise and get in good trouble, necessary trouble. We will find a way to make a way out of no way.

Those of us who marched for civil rights in the 1960s, who protested the Vietnam War, who pushed for students’ free speech and youth voting rights -- and who, to a significant extent, prevailed -- cannot avoid today’s causes or abandon today’s protesters. What we can do is help demonstrate, yet again, that there is virtue in getting into “good trouble, necessary trouble.”

Les Francis served as Rep. Norman Mineta’s first congressional chief of staff before moving to Jimmy Carter’s White House as deputy assistant to the president and eventually deputy White House chief of staff. He remained active in national politics and public affairs from offices in Washington, D.C., for four decades before returning to his native California in 2016.